


exeunt omnes

by wolfangs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Domestic, Feral Will Graham, Florist Hannibal, Havana, Implied/Referenced Sex, Knifeplay, Knives, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), References to Shakespeare, Remy is a good kitty, Slow Build, Tags May Change, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, bc i just think they're neat, my pretentious ass is shaking, they have a dog and cat because i said so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfangs/pseuds/wolfangs
Summary: About a year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled down in the richer parts of Havana, Cuba. They have taken on a perfectly fitting role in their neighbourhood and their strictly planned, disciplined kills have helped them fly under the radar of Jack Crawford & Co. But Will aches for something more... Raw. What will the price of that be?
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. revenge yourselves alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that i romanticize cuba in this work quite a bit for the sake of fiction so not everything is going to be 100% accurate! i am trying my best with research, but despite that i know i won’t be able to represent cuba in a fully authentic way. please do inform me though if you have any thoughts concerning this!

The dark, empty streets were still warm from the afternoon sun, lit up only by the glowing street lights. They echoed the pattering of the rain in a way that almost resembled singing, the sound ringing in the dark stillness. A man was strolling on the sidewalk in a neighbourhood he didn’t belong in, shoes splashing in small puddles, hood drawn out to hide his face. He was anonymous, invisible.

Nervous, he looked around constantly, keeping an eye out for the target he knew he was going to find in this very neighbourhood. He was angry, frustrated, desperate. He had no money; he’d lost half of it gambling and had drunk the rest away.

It didn’t matter, though. He knew exactly who he had lost everything to, and he was going to get it all back. Tonight.

The neighbourhood he was in was obviously wealthy. Big houses evenly spaced out with well-kept front gardens, a car or two sitting in the driveways. The houses were painted with bright colours, but in the night they looked a little wrong, somehow distorted. They were all different, but somehow still the same. It didn’t look quite right. He’d gotten used to busy streets, large tourist hordes and crumbling buildings. This wasn't the Cuba he knew. 

A particular home stood out from the rest. It seemed to have an actual soul, unlike the other surrounding houses. It was a two-story house, practically a small mansion, painted dark beige with black and brown accents and a cobblestone driveway. Plants hugged its sides, and the small garden out front was clearly overgrown but still stylish. He spotted some basil and thyme in the pots on the front porch. Practical, but the outer appearance of the house was purely for boasting purposes, he was sure of it. The property was just the type that pretentious _puta madre_ would drool over.

There were no lights on in the house downstairs, and the upstairs curtains were drawn closed, no light peeking through. The fucker was asleep, then. Now was the perfect time. He looked around hastily, making sure no one was close by before he snuck behind the house.

The man felt the moisture from the wet lawn seep through his tennis shoes and into his socks. His heart was beating fast and his palms were beginning to be uncomfortably sweaty. He’d only ever done this a few times before, and even though his previous encounters had all ended a bit too… Messy, he’d at least got the job done. Surely this time couldn’t be that much different.

He just needed to grab his money back from this rich snob and run off with what rightfully belonged to him.

He climbed over the brick wall fence surrounding the backyard and carefully landed behind the house, the large tiles on the ground comfortingly solid under his feet. He got to the glass back door and decided to try his luck and tug at the handle.

Locked. Of course it was. He scoffed at himself, partly in disbelief at his stupidity, partly in frustration. He circled the backyard, pondering, grateful for the shelter the tall trees and solid fence provided. 

Looking around, the man noticed a small window cracked open to provide some fresh air. He suddenly realized how often he himself left his windows open at night, and a deep chill ran down his spine. The window was hidden from plain sight behind the bodies of different kinds of plants and herbs that were all sat on a small glass table. The man walked up and moved the table from his way, cringing at every small sound it made. 

He somehow managed to squeeze through the tiny window, though he landed rather clumsily on the black-and-white tiling of a kitchen floor. The more-than-few shots of liquor he had consumed before leaving were partly to blame.

The man got up, brushed imaginary dust off his pants and tried to ignore the growing lump in his throat. His hands were shaking and thoughts racing.

He decided he would look around downstairs for anything his money could have been stored in before heading upstairs. He wished it wouldn’t have to come to that. Going up there would be risky, and he wasn’t that lucky. He was going to be found out, and it was going to end in a bloody fight, most likely in his favor, like it had before. He wasn’t looking for that. Not tonight. 

The man searched the kitchen drawers, dressers, couch cushions, flower pots and every other thing he could possibly think of, but found nothing of importance. There were some paintings on the walls that could’ve been worth something, but he wasn’t the kind of man to take something that wasn’t his. Not unless absolutely necessary.

Coming up with nothing downstairs, he knew he had to head upstairs. He was terrified, but knowing the son of a bitch was up there sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of his presence provided him some comfort. The man grabbed his trusty old pocket knife from his pocket for moral support and walked to the stairs.

They were tile and thus couldn’t possibly make much noise, but he could’ve sworn every thump of his feet was tantamount to the beat of a large orchestral drum, echoing in the dark stillness. He prayed to the saints the other man wouldn’t hear him approach.

After what seemed like forever, he finally made it to the top of the stairs.

The hallway was dark and wide, and the walls were lined with plants, mirrors and small scenery paintings. The man felt a knot of envy tighten in his stomach. How could an asshole such as this man live like this but he, a good, hardworking man, had to live from paycheck to paycheck?

He fought the urge to tear down the paintings, smash the mirrors and throw the silly plants to the floor. It was difficult, but he could restrain himself. He was here for a simple task, and that wasn’t revenge.

The man slowly crept down the hallway, hearing only deafening silence and the beating of his own heart. There was a warm, flickering glow emitting from the right end of the hallway that was enticing and would have been almost inviting if it weren’t for his current circumstances.

He approached the glow until he came to an opening leading to a spacious room with wide curtain-covered windows, worn but plush loveseat and armchair, an ivory grand piano on his right and, on the wall opposite him, tall bookshelves with a fireplace in the middle. It was alight with a flame that looked quite freshly kindled. He rolled his eyes at the overtly luxurious look of the room and pocketed his knife. He walked over to one of the bookshelves to inspect it and noticed a wide book with the cover, instead of the spine, facing him.

It was titled _Wuthering Heights._ He had heard of it before, but he couldn’t exactly recall what it was about and he surely wasn’t going to start reading it now. 

He took the leather-bound book in his hands and noticed a small safe behind it, embedded into the wall. _Jackpot_ . The man felt a grin reach his lips. He’d dealt with safes before; trying to figure out the combination was a waste of time when all you had to do was _listen._

He put his ear on the cold metal and...

“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve got the wrong house”, said a sleepy, snarky voice from behind him. 

The man’s heart skipped a beat and sank to his stomach. He turned around slowly, putting his hands on his head in a silent surrender.

He was expecting to see an older man with grey, long hair, cold eyes and a fanged grin. But whom he came eye to eye with was a whole different person: a slightly younger, scruffy man with brown curls. He was holding a small knife, wearing nothing but underwear and a crimson red night robe that hung open.

Maybe he was, indeed, in the wrong house.

“I… I can explain. Please”, he pleaded, knowing damn well he had no tangible excuse. Maybe he could buy some time, somehow talk his way out of this. This didn’t have to end like the times before.

He was well aware of his pocket knife. It was burning hot in his pocket, aching for him to take it in his hands and _use it, use it, use it_. It was too early, though. Right now the man was too far away for the knife to be of any use.

“Please do”, the man finally said, calm, cocking his head a bit to the side in amusement and taking a few steps forward on the hardwood floor. 

“I…” the man gulped, his throat dry as he watched the sharp blade of the other man’s knife glisten in the light of the flames. The man could’ve sworn the shadows behind the other man were moving, dancing, as if alive. But when he saw a figure emerge from the darkness, he realized there was _someone else there._

The charlatan, the fanged devil, the man he was here for. 

Anger, the liquor in his veins and his impulses took the better of him and without even fully realizing it, he lunged forward, his pocket knife suddenly in hand, ready to attack like a wild animal.

The younger man was faster, though, raising his blade to strike, slashing quickly at his knife-wielding hand, lacerating the skin of his wrist.

A quick pulse of pain shot through him and he dropped his dear knife to the floor.

“Ahh, fuck! _¡Hijo de puta!”_ he exclaimed in reflex, watching in horror as his blood gushed out of the wound on his wrist and spilled to the floor like a morbidly beautiful waterfall. The man slowly lifted his gaze, coming eye to eye with the younger man whose eyes were glinting with something he had never seen before, in man nor animal.

He noticed from the corner of his eye that the older man was just standing at the doorway, leaning on the frame of the door, nonchalant with pride cloaking his eyes and features. Like a god observing his dearest creation.

The man came to his senses when the younger man lunged at him yet again, this time nearly pouncing with excitement. His movements were effervescent, as if he had never been alive until this very moment. He tried to dodge, but the blade still hit his right shoulder.

He yelped in pain, feeling hot liquid pour out of the wound and bleed, seeping into his shirt like paint on a canvas. He fell to his knees and tried to reach for his pocket knife, but the man, _la bestia,_ kicked the blade out of his reach.

He realized he was crying, hot, unspilled tears stinging his eyes. “Please”, he pleaded, desperately trying to make this right. He knew it was of no help, but he had to try. “I’m sorry.” He watched as the man approached him, messy hair hanging on his eyes, a furrow in his brows.

He kneeled beside him and looked at him quizzically. “Sorry for what? We should be thanking you”, the man replied, giving a short, dry laugh and grabbing the other man’s throat, squeezing but not choking.

A chill ran down the man’s spine at his touch, at his words, at his tone. They’d done this before. And they would do it again, he realized. 

The man knew he would receive no mercy from these two, but he was determined to fight back. He drew his fist back and punched the man in the jaw with all his strength.

It wasn’t much considering he was still bleeding, but at least it caught him by surprise and got him to jolt backwards, making him release his grip on the man’s neck. He took advantage of the situation and punched him in the face again, this time fist coming to contact with cartilage and bone. He felt skin breaking and something crunching from the impact.

His knuckles ached from the collision with the younger man’s nose, but he felt pride swell in his chest when he noticed the man was bleeding.

He glanced in the doorway of the room, frustrated that the man he had come here for hadn’t joined the fight, hadn’t even moved since it started.

He didn’t think of grabbing his pocket knife, just rose from the floor and started making his way toward the older man, determined to get his payback otherwise if he couldn’t get it in the form of his lost money.

He was interrupted, however, when the man crouched on the floor grabbed his ankle and yanked him backwards. He lost his footing and fell down, arms outstretched in an attempt to soften the blow. When his hands braced the hardwood floor, he felt his wrists bend in ways they were not supposed to, lungs losing air as his torso hit the floor. His pathetic cries of agony died in his throat.

His nerves were on fire and his vision was blurring. He didn’t even realize the younger man had overpowered him until he realized there was something hot dripping on his face.

Blood.

The younger man had pinned him down on the floor on his back by his throat, squeezing as hard as he could without suffocating him. Drops of red from the other man’s nose fell on his face like rain droplets. He was wheezing and weakly coughing, struggling to breathe.

His pulse quickened in terror as he watched the man use his left hand to grab his knife from the floor, dread settling in his stomach.

To his surprise, though, instead of immediately plunging the knife in him, the man on top of him slightly lifted his gaze from the man under him and took the blade to his lips, licking it and grinning at the older man still fucking standing in the doorway. What sort of sick game was this?

The man on top of him suddenly focused his attention on him again, dropping his knife on the other man’s face. He slowly dragged it down his cheek, leaving behind a thin line that slowly started to seep spots of red. His eyes were glowing with sick delight, his gaze feral like a rabid dog’s. A shiver of pure terror ran down the man’s spine.

In a quick movement, the man peeled his hand from the other’s throat and replaced it with the sharp blade he was holding. The other man attempted a final plea of mercy, but could barely make a sound before he felt the skin of his throat open excruciatingly with a swift flick, sensing his own blood on his face and tongue.

His blood spouted from the laceration and blood started to pool, dampening the front of his shirt and the hairs on the back of his neck. He lay there helpless, at the complete mercy of the other man.

But that wasn’t enough. 

The man raised the blade, grabbing it with both hands and plunged it into his neck and through his windpipe before lifting it up again, this time piercing his chest and heart, then his ribcage and lung. The wounds bled profusely and the blood-covered, panting man watched with wide eyes as the man beneath him gradually stopped twitching and choking and slipped into a deep sleep from which he would never wake. 

Finally, he stood up and let go of the knife, its handle slippery with blood. It clattered to the floor, echoing. He walked over to the older man who had been watching the two of them the entire time. 

“Could’ve used some help back there, Hannibal”, he said breathlessly, panting slightly from the exertion and excitement of the fight.

The older man stayed silent, gazing into his eyes for a moment and admired the way his bare chest was painted the same crimson as his night robe, the way his wild eyes reflected the faint glow of the fire.

After a while he raised his right hand and cupped the other man’s face, palm comfortingly warm and grounding. “You clearly had it under control. Why should I have interfered?” he soon said, more of a statement than a question. “You know I love to watch you work, Will.”

“Oh, I know you do”, Will replied, stepping in closer and placing his hand on the nape of Hannibal’s neck. He played with the hair there, having grown fond of his longer hair.

He looked up at Hannibal through his lashes and leaned in, kissing him deeply. Their tongues touched, and something stirred inside Will when he realized Hannibal could taste the very blood he had just spilled on his tongue.

Growing breathless, Will begrudgingly pulled away and rested his forehead against Hannibal’s.

“You should go gambling more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title of the chapter is from the shakespeare play julius caesar. (yes, this fic will be full of shakespeare references.) so excited to continue this! please let me know what you thought and feel free to tell me if i made mistakes of any sort :-)


	2. o, where is romeo?

Will awoke alone on the bed, as usual. No matter the circumstances, Hannibal somehow always seemed to wake up before him. It didn’t really bother him; he liked to wake up on his own terms. Sometimes, though, Will found himself wishing he would’ve been allowed the pleasure and privilege of waking up next to a warm, loving body pressed against his own.

Will could hear soft, faint piano playing. Even in a sleepy state, he still recognized it to be Liszt’s Un sospiro. Hannibal had played it many times before, but never did it lose its glory. The familiar piece was as melodic and calming as always, the tension in the air swelling as the piece grew more dramatic and swift. Their bedroom door had been left slightly open, and the billowy high notes flowed in through the small gap in a narrow stream.

The bedroom was alight with pale sunlight, the day already having started its course without Will’s consent. He sat up to the side of the bed and looked through the narrow French doors in front of him leading to the balcony. The windows of the doors glistened with small rain droplets and sunlight filtered through them into the room. When he listened carefully, he could hear the slight drizzle of the rain, birds singing and the distant bumble of traffic. The sounds of life softly washed over him like a very welcome tide of serenity.

Will closed his eyes to retreat to the solitary corners of his mind and realized his thoughts were quieter than they had been in weeks. He felt free, unrestrained. Last night’s events were still crystal clear on his mind, but he didn’t quite see himself in them. He saw someone else, someone raw and true, committing the acts he would have only dreamed of through his hands. The beast he had finally accepted as a part of him had taken over, though this time... This time he’d been fully conscious and enjoyed every second of it.

Will opened his eyes and grounded himself before standing up and walking to the bathroom. He grabbed the sink, leaning his weight onto it and looking up at himself in the mirror. Though he felt better than he had in a while, he still looked rough: his pale scars were a stark contrast to his tanned skin and slight bruising painted the bridge of his nose and undereyes purple, blending in with his dark circles. The line of his jaw hurt, too, where the stranger had punched him, but the bruise was covered by his thickened beard. He had planned to shave it, but maybe it could wait until his face was healed.

After gently washing his face with water, Will wandered into their little library, hoping to see Hannibal still sitting at the piano though the music had already ended a good while ago. He loved seeing him play. When he was uninterrupted, you could see in his eyes how he got lost in the music and all the stories it had to tell. It was beautiful.

Hannibal wasn’t there, though. Will was alone in the warm room, the embers of the fireplace still glowing. The curtains were drawn, and sunlight seeped in, flooding the room in golden orange. He stared at the hardwood floor and found himself thinking about last night and how his muscles still ached from the fight and the cleanup. Will wondered if anyone would wake up today missing the stranger.

Suddenly he felt something one could only describe as a distant pang of guilt. Not guilt of the act itself, but of his enjoyment of it.

The tension, not knowing who the man was or what he had done, just two strangers fighting to the death like uncaged wild beasts. It excited him, filled him with a macabre intensity. Last night’s kill was impulsive, it wasn’t planned like the others had been. He didn’t know anything about the stranger or his possible crimes. What if there weren’t any? What if he’d had a family?

Friends?

A significance?

He tried to find it in himself to care, to put himself in a stranger’s shoes once again like he had countless times before, but he couldn’t. There was no sign of guilt of what he'd done. All he felt was triumph, and that terrified him.

With that thought, he swallowed, turned around to walk down the hallway, down the stairs and into their kitchen. Hannibal was there chopping red chili and spring onion on a sleek wooden cutting board, eggs and strips of meat already heating up on the frying pans on top of the stove next to him. The comforting smell of spice and salt filled the kitchen.

“What’s for breakfast?” Will asked for kicks, already knowing the answer.

Hannibal looked up, only now having noticed Will. “Fried wild pig with a traditional Japanese okonomiyaki omelette”, he replied with a smug grin on his face. Wild pig. Hannibal did love his cannibal jokes. 

His hair was falling on his eyes and he looked especially uninhibited in his loose black shirt and relaxed slacks, his person-suit from when they first met a distant memory. Will was the one person privileged enough to see Hannibal this vulnerable, and even though he got to see it every day, it was something he would never tire of.

Will took a few steps forward, the black and white tiles warm under his bare feet, and leaned back on the counter behind Hannibal. He hesitated if he should inquire about the stranger; it wasn't often that they discussed their kills afterwards. “Do you, um... Know anything more about the man from last night?”

Hannibal continued his slicing and answered Will without turning around: “I do. We only discussed briefly before the game of poker began, but he didn’t talk much. He drank quite excessively during the game, and could not contain his liquor very well. He started making childish threats towards the staff and other players. Whether or not his behaviour escalated from that, I can’t say. I left after winning, but he stayed behind.”

Will stayed silent. “Having regrets?” Hannibal asked, tending to his fancy omelette before finally turning around to face Will. The younger man maintained eye contact for a second before averting his gaze to the floor. “No, I don’t think so. Just curious”, Will said softly, nearly whispering and quirked a brief, humourless smile. 

“I understand”, Hannibal stated, tone implicating he’d grasped the words left unspoken. “Reverting to your natural instincts will take some getting used to. When I was a young man, I was scared of myself every now and then, too. Humans have evolved so far. We have developed all these behavioural rules for ourselves to follow. It’s only natural that stripping yourself of that evolutionary progress would make you feel vulnerable, unsure of yourself. But I’m here to help you with that, Will. You will never be alone.”

Hannibal closed the small distance between him and Will and gently took his face in his hands. Will smiled at him, a real smile this time. “I know”, he replied, setting his hands on top of Hannibal’s. Will closed his eyes, easing into Hannibal’s touch. He was grateful that everything he’d ever experienced, every small decision he’d ever made had led to this very moment. 

When Hannibal let go and returned to his cooking, Will opened his eyes, missing the physical sensation. The skin of his face tingled where Hannibal had stroked it.

“You know, Valeria and Alvaro are throwing an unceremonious dinner party to celebrate their daughter passing her detective exam. They invited us along with the whole neighbourhood over next Saturday. Should I let her know we’ll be there?” Hannibal asked, walking over to the dinner table next to the kitchen and setting down two plates on it.

“Sure. Why not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title of the chapter is from shakespeare's play named... you guessed it... romeo & juliet. sorry it's a bit short, but the next chapter is where things will really kick in. constructive criticism is always appreciated :-)


	3. to bait fish withal

Will and Hannibal’s neighbours knew them as Florian and Misha Leblanc. A Canadian-Russian couple that had moved to Cuba for a lighter, freer life away from the judging eyes of their loved ones. They hadn’t exactly lied, but their neighbours interpreted their explanation a little differently than they themselves. 

The two of them had grown quite used to their roles in the neighbourhood. They no longer felt odd, like an ill-fitting suit, no. The parts they played were first like characters in a play to be experienced from a distance, but slowly, over time they had absorbed them. The roles had slowly become a part of them, until finally, they felt like a second skin. 

Will had noticed Hannibal had grown more loose over the course of their time in Havana. Hannibal would willingly put on Hawaiian shirts with silly prints, as well as let his hair hang freely over his eyes, not combing it back every instance he got. Will knew it wasn’t just Hannibal excelling at his role as Misha Leblanc, but something else, too. He knew Hannibal was finally becoming someone he had never allowed himself to be before, the person he’d never even considered he could be. 

And here he was, heading to a dinner party. Instead of putting on the three-piece suit he used to wear all the fucking time, he chose to wear a short-sleeved button up with thick, vertical white and light pink stripes. He wore it unbuttoned over a white t-shirt along with some navy slacks. Will never thought he’d see Hannibal dress like this for an occasion, no matter how casual the hosts had informed it would be. Though it had taken some getting used to, Will found himself liking this new version of Hannibal immensely. Seeing him dressed like this somehow felt much more intimate than most of the moments they’d shared together.

Will himself chose a similar shirt to Hannibal’s, only apricot rather than light pink with narrower stripes, and he wore it buttoned up with no undershirt. Hannibal picked out black pants and a tan blazer for him. It felt odd, being more dressed up than Hannibal.

They headed to their neighbours’ at around 5 o’clock in the evening. The air was humid still from the afternoon rain showers, and the bright pink of the setting sun painted the Castillo family’s beautiful villa a gorgeous shade of red. Hannibal rang the doorbell, bouquet in hand while Will stood next to him, holding a bottle of Havana Club rum. 

A younger woman Will had never seen before opened the door with a genuine smile on her lips. “Welcome! So nice to meet you. I’m Samira, Valeria and Alvaro’s daughter”, she greeted in Spanish, the words rolling off her tongue in a fast fashion. She was wearing a yellow off-the-shoulder top with gridded slacks, and her hair was in beautifully twisted braids. Bold gold jewelry adorned her neck and ears, complimenting her dark skin tone.

“Good evening”, Hannibal replied politely, both men stepping inside as Valeria opened the door for them. “I’m Misha Leblanc, and this is my husband”, Hannibal said, gesturing towards Will. “Florian”, clarified Will and smiled back at her. “Felicidades”, he added, handing her the bottle of rum.

“Gracias. My parents are in the kitchen if you want to talk to them”, she said, eyes fixed on Will though her words were clearly meant for them both. He nodded awkwardly in understanding and glanced at Hannibal, who was staring at her with a hint of bitterness in his expression. Samira either paid it no mind or simply didn’t notice, just said a brief goodbye, turned on her heels and walked into the lounge next to them, where most of the guests currently lounged. Afro-Cuban jazz music flowed throughout the house, and the echo of the guests’ chatter followed Will like a ghost as he and Hannibal started their way down the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Valeria and Alvaro were setting up the dishes, a wondrous aroma emitting from the countless trays on the countertops. “Smells delicious”, Hannibal said in greeting. Valeria looked up from the fruit display she was organizing, and a warm smile crept on her face as she recognized the two men. “Misha and Florian! So nice to see you both here, as always.” She was wearing a beautiful red dress that was a gorgeous contrast to her dark skin and instead of her usual bob, she’d decided to wear her natural hair tonight. Her eyes widened as they set on the bouquet Hannibal was holding.

“Oh, so beautiful, Misha, thank you”, she said in awe, stepping forward to accept the bouquet. She embraced Hannibal in a friendly side hug in appreciation before doing the same to Will as well. “Would you be so kind as to take the dishes to the table? Please”, Alvaro chimed in from where he was standing beside the dishes.

“Always such a pleasure to have you join us, yes, but let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? We have guests waiting, after all”, he joked, tone teasing. From a stranger that comment might have seemed rude, but Will knew Alvaro better than that. Light humour was Alvaro’s usual way of greeting his friends. He and Will had grown quite close during their time in Cuba, and Will had learned to know Alvaro’s small jokes and quirks. Just like Hannibal had learned to know Valeria’s.

He and Will exchanged amused glances while Valeria looked at her husband disapprovingly. “‘Course”, Will replied unbothered and carefully took one of the meat trays in his hands, following suit as Valeria showed the way.

⁂

After dinner was served and finished, the guests scattered all around the house. Some went upstairs, some took seat in the lounge, some went outside in the garden to cool off. Will had sat down in the corner on a firm couch in the lounge. He inhaled in the secondhand cigarette smoke from around him and watched as people walked by and discussed whatever.

Hannibal was sitting at the grand piano the Castillo’s had in the other corner of the lounge. Most of the time it lay there forgotten, retired, but whenever he and Hannibal came over, it never caught a break. It was a little out of tune, but Will thought that only added to its character. 

Hannibal was playing some jazz piece Valeria had convinced him to learn while simultaneously discussing something of no meaning with whomever decided to pass by. Will had never quite understood how Hannibal could multitask like that.

Sometime ago Alvaro had joined his company, sat on the armchair opposite from him. He had whipped out a chess board and set it out on the table between them, gesturing Will to begin the game. Valeria and Alvaro were both a bit older than Hannibal, but Will still had no trouble understanding them. They had surprisingly much in common, and he liked that not many words needed to be exchanged between them for them to enjoy each other’s company. 

They had gotten through a couple of games when Will heard Hannibal playing a piece that never failed to catch his attention: Ravel’s Une barque sur l’océan. He supposed it took everyone’s breath away: the piece was so difficult to master, so beautiful most in the room shut their mouths and listened in appreciation as Hannibal’s swift fingers glided on the piano’s wooden keys. 

There were some whispers, even some moderately loud chatter, but mostly the room’s walls simply echoed music notes. Beautiful waves surging in and out of the audience’s ears, varying between strong and loud and soft and quiet, like the ocean. It was too good not to stop and seize the moment. 

Will observed in contentment as the crowd around him watched Hannibal in awe. His stomach filled with pride due to the knowledge that despite Hannibal’s ridiculously many talents, all the appearances he made, all his friends and acquaintances… He belonged to Will. No one could touch him deep or truly see him; he was his and his only. 

And he _wanted_ him now.

When the piece came to a stop, the guests began applauding. It wasn’t outright enthusiastic, but neither compulsory. It was a courtesy, a small commendation at most. The people who had sincerely enjoyed his performance came by to him after he stood up from the piano. They thanked him, started discussing with him.

Will excused Alvaro and their unfinished game with a small nod before standing up and walking to the doorway of the lounge.

He took out a cigarette pack from the inner pocket of his blazer. He picked out a single unfiltered cigarette, placed it between his lips and watched as Hannibal engaged in conversation with an eager older woman. Will waited for Hannibal to glance at him, to notice him. And when he did, Will looked him in the eye vehemently and then turned around to walk out. He and Hannibal had smoked at the Castillos’ before, he’d know where to come: to the garden behind the house. 

Will opened the patio doors and stepped on the porch outside. As the door slid shut and the noise from inside dulled, so did Will’s mind. The rum and wine he’d drunk were definitely getting to him, among other things, and though the cooled night air felt refreshing, it did nothing to clear his thoughts. 

He lit his cigarette with his lighter and took in a long drag. The sensation of strong tobacco entering his system was overwhelming, and a small shiver traveled throughout his body. Will stepped down from the raised sitting area and walked to the side of the house. He leaned against the wall and just smoked, enjoying the calmer atmosphere. There was someone else in the garden, Will was aware of it. He could hear someone talking, but he couldn’t see them. He didn’t really care, either. Out of sight, out of mind.

When he’d smoked almost halfway through his cigarette, he heard the patio doors open and shut with a click. He didn’t turn his head to look, didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But it was Hannibal, of course. He settled next to him, and they stood in silence for a good while. Silence. It was never awkward between them. Just… Pleasant. As it was meant to be.

Will took in a stretched out drag of his cigarette. “You play best when you have an audience”, he said, turning to Hannibal and blowing out smoke, “but I prefer to have you all to myself.” Hannibal smiled slightly at that and turned to face Will as well, mirroring his posture. “You have me here now. I’m at your mercy.”

“Yes, you are”, Will said and tossed the cigarette with a flick of his fingers. He took a step closer, stopping when he could feel Hannibal’s breath on his lips, the burning heat of his body mere millimeters from his own. Will studied the older man’s features, his eyes and finally rested his arms on his shoulders like a schoolgirl slow dancing at prom. He enjoyed the contact and the feeling of power it granted him.

He leaned in slowly and planted a soft kiss on Hannibal’s lips. Will knew he wanted more, but he also knew Hannibal wouldn’t try and get it himself. He respected himself too much for that. For now, at least. He liked the idea of having to tempt his ego, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore. Every time Will thought he had stripped him of his pride for good, he built it up all over again.

“ _In the course of justice, none of us should see salvation. But we do pray for mercy_ ”, Will recited, studying Hannibal’s expression to see what kind of reaction he could get out of him with the quote. “Did I get that right, Doctor Lecter?” he continued with a smirk, knowing full well just what kind of effect his words had on the other man. Hannibal’s expression changed at that; the corners of his eyes wrinkled just slightly and the glint in his eyes grew playful. The expression might have been unreadable to others, but its meaning was crystal clear to Will: he was proud of him.

“You’ve done your homework”, Hannibal admitted. “But tell me, how will I receive salvation, then, if not through mercy?” he shot back, tone similar to the one he’d used in Baltimore. It was rare to hear him speak that way now. It almost felt wrong, like he was role-playing as someone else entirely. 

Will decided to amuse him, to play along in this over-dramatic dialogue. He had started it, after all. “You already have your mercies. I’d say that’s more than enough for you. Yet what we have here is nothing but a temporary haven. Salvation will always be out of reach. Don’t you think?” he said, amused at how pretentious he sounded. But of course, Hannibal had always loved him that way.

“Yes. Salvation might be lost to the sea, but mercy has been granted this very moment, to you and I.” Hannibal placed his hands on Will’s hips and gazed at him, his eyes so full of emotion, of love, that Will’s heart ached.

Finally, just as Will had hoped, Hannibal gave in and leaned in to kiss Will. It was careful, tender at first. Much like the first time they had kissed. But soon they lost composure, bodies craving passion and proximity in their utmost potential. Hannibal pushed Will against the wall and stepped in between his legs, wanting, needing to be as close to him as physically possible. Their lips barely parted for air, their fingers grasped at each other’s clothing and tangled up each other’s hair. They nipped at one another, clashing teeth. They would have gotten completely lost in each other, forgotten their surroundings and given in to _amour fou_ , if it hadn’t been for the sharp sound of a ceramic pot shattering on tile.

Taken aback, they froze and pulled away from each other. “ _You fucking bitch!_ Get back here _right now!_ ” a man’s voice shouted in English, not loud enough to alert guests from inside the house, but enough to break the tranquilizing silence of the garden. A woman emerged from behind a row of tall, neatly trimmed bushes, tears streaming down her face. She was noticeably pregnant, maybe seven months in. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her wrists were red, like they’d been gripped tight. She exited the garden, barely acknowledging Will and Hannibal as she stormed past them. 

A man came after her, fury in his eyes and demeanor. But when he noticed he wasn’t alone, his behaviour changed completely; he put on his disguise of a courteous gentleman. “Sorry to bother, but did you see my wife go past here?” he asked politely, anger now almost completely gone. Neither answered.

Will felt nothing but hot, boiling disgust towards the man. He wanted nothing more than to jump him right then and there, to stick his knife in him, to claw at his eyes and face, to tear out his throat with his teeth. Noticing Will’s growing frenzy, Hannibal took over. 

“Why don’t you have a drink with us? Let your wife cool down.”

⁂

“And then she just started crying! I don’t understand women. Such fragile creatures. Made out of porcelain, those bitches”, the man, whose name they had learned was Maxwell, remarked. He told them he’d lived in the United States most of his life, but had moved to Cuba nearly five years ago to collect a relative’s inheritance. He’d never thought to stay long, but his plans changed when he met his now-wife. 

Will glared at him, unable to speak a word without cursing the man seated opposite him. Whatever game it was that Hannibal was conducting, Will couldn’t take part in. Not right now. He at least needed a drink - or two - first.

He stood up with no comment and started making his way through all the guests towards the table where all the drinks resided, not even glancing at the two men left behind. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. 

He chose a whiskey glass from the far end of the table and filled it up halfway. “¡Hola de nuevo!” he heard from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and noticed the Castillos’ daughter, Samira. She was walking towards him across the floor with that same polite expression on her face. She was holding an empty champagne glass in her hand. Will smiled at her in recognition. 

“Florian, yes?” she asked, grabbing the bottle of champagne and refilling her glass. Will nodded. “I just talked with my mother and I heard you’ve only lived here a year, not even that! Yet you understood my Spanish so well. I have to ask, should I talk with you in Spanish or English?” she asked in English. Her accent was apparent, but not overwhelming. Will took a sip of his whiskey before answering. “Both are fine. I’m not exactly fluent, but it’s good practice. I’ll surely let you know if I haven’t understood something. But”, he said, gesturing vaguely, “thank you for asking.”

She reached out to briefly touch his shoulder, looking up at him with a slightly flirtatious expression on her face. “Great! I could use some practice for my English too, so maybe I’ll use them both with you”, she said. “Enjoy the party”, she remarked, standing up on her toes to peck Will on the cheek and giving him one last smile before walking off to go socialize with some of the other neighbours. Some Cubans tended to greet and say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, so Will didn’t think too much of it.

He took another sip of his whiskey, filled the glass again and returned to the two men whose company he had left. The air of the lounge room was chillier now; some windows had been opened to let out the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. 

“So yeah, how’s your wife? As bad as mine?” Maxwell asked with a chuckle, pointing to the silver band adorning the ring finger of Hannibal’s left hand. Will glanced at Hannibal with slightly raised brows, curious as to what he’d reply. Hannibal was barely phased, answering like it was a question as normal as day.

“My wife is excellent at getting on my nerves, yes. She delights in wicked things I can merely tolerate. But we get along well. As well as one can after ten years of marriage”, Hannibal said, putting on a smile Will knew to be strained. It amused Will to the point he almost couldn’t hold back a laugh. He lit a cigarette to hide it.

Maxwell smiled an ugly grin, flashing his unnaturally white teeth. “Ain’t that the truth”, he said and grabbed a fat cigar from his pocket. “Can I get a light?” he asked, looking to Will and his freshly-lit cigarette. “Sorry. Lighter just ran out of fuel”, he lied. He watched in silent satisfaction as the man put the cigar away and slouched back in his seat. “So, Misha, where’s your wife now? She here?” he tried again.

“No, she’s working. Her and I own a flower shop. I believe she’s there right now, preparing new arrangements and ornaments and whatnot for the following week”, he made up. Will smiled, impressed at how Hannibal had come up with such a perfect excuse in just a few seconds. “You should come see her after. I’m sure she could pick out the perfect bouquet to soothe your wife. A woman knows another woman best, no?” Hannibal suggested and smiled a polite smile, his true intentions shining in his eyes. 

Will finally realized what Hannibal had in mind for this man. The thought of it made his skin tingle with anticipation. “Sure thing”, Maxwell said, taking the bait like a greedy fish. 

They’d got him hook, line and sinker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the line will quotes is from shakespeare's play "the merchant of venice", act 4 scene 1. the title of the chapter is from the same play.


	4. what my tongue speaks, my sword may prove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanks to my wonderful girlfriend/beta reader @subterraneanalien !

_past cure i am, now reason is past care,_  
 _and frantic-mad with evermore unrest:_  
 _my thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,_  
 _at random from the truth vainly express’d;_  
 _for i have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,_  
 _who art as black as hell, as dark as night._  
shakespeare’s sonnet 147

Hannibal turned the key in the lock, and the door opened with a click. He parted the door just enough to fit his arm, and reached a hand up to silence the bell attached to the upper door frame. He then opened it properly, stepped in and held it open as Maxwell entered into the open space along with Will. He carefully closed the door behind him and gave it a quick pull to make sure it was locked again. “Where’s your wife?” Maxwell asked almost immediately, a curious look on his face.

Hannibal smiled at his impatience and leaned on the checkout counter near the entrance. “She’s down in the basement. That’s where all the supplies are, including the cold room where we keep all the flowers. It’s too hot up here for unfinished arrangements, the flowers would all wilt almost immediately. Do you understand?” Hannibal explained, in a tone that was slightly belittling, one he would use if he was talking to a small child. He wasn’t lying, but Maxwell shot him a dubious look anyway.

“She couldn’t have come up to say hello? How rude of her,” Maxwell joked, smirking self-approvingly. His smugness increased when he noticed Hannibal had a look of amusement on his face as well. His look was for very different reasons than Maxwell had in mind, though; it practically screamed “ _I’m going to have so much fun eating you later_ ”. But, of course Maxwell couldn’t have known that, the oblivious fool that he was.

From where he was standing close to the door, Will noticed Maxwell was eyeing at him amusedly. It was obvious he was questioning his presence, but didn’t dare say anything. “Do you need something?” Will asked with a sharp bitterness in his voice, emphasizing each of his words. It was probably the first time he’d directly addressed him the entire evening, he realized. Maxwell didn’t answer, just started laughing obnoxiously in a way that, unfortunately, reminded Will of Mason Verger. He hadn’t thought of that piece of shit in a while.

“No, it’s nothing! Just observing,” he stated, amused, stepping closer to pat Will on the back a little too hard for comfort. He didn’t appreciate it one bit, almost squirmed at the touch. When Will looked to Hannibal, he noticed he had the most delicious, venomous smile on his face.

“I’ll lead the way,” Hannibal said, stepping in front of the bickering pair and walking past all the tables and counters filled with plants to the corner furthest away from the door. He flicked the small light switch next to the door frame leading to the basement before inserting a key in its lock. He opened the door for them this time as well, and Maxwell stepped in first.

The light was dim and the stairs feeble, creaking with each step. The air inside the thick stone walls was cooler, and the atmosphere much more sinister than outside, on the comfortably warm Cuban streets.

As soon as the heavy door behind the three of them clicked to a close, Will’s jumbled thoughts suddenly snapped themselves together like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting in shapes of one another. He experienced a moment of absolute clarity, absent of any doubt or ambiguity, and knew exactly what he needed to do. Maxwell was descending down the long, steep stairs at an excruciatingly slow pace, and Will just couldn’t bring himself to wait any longer. He’d waited long enough, he’d been patient all night. He deserved to have this one tiny thing for himself, didn’t he?

Of course he did.

He grabbed the man’s shoulders with a tight grip in his fingers and pushed him forward with all his strength, nearly losing his stance and stumbling down himself.

Will watched in malicious glee as the man tumbled down the stairs in an extremely inelegant manner, having completely been taken by surprise. He smiled to himself and descended the rest of the stairs calmly, still having time to gloat at the bottom of the stairs as he waited for the man to begin to stand up from the hard red-tiled floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Maxwell shouted from the floor before getting up angrily. He’d hit his head and the impact had broken skin; a thick trail of blood started to trickle from his forehead, touching his brow before dribbling down his cheekbone. Maxwell had obviously felt this as he lifted his fingertips up to his head, nostrils flaring and eyes widening when he drew his fingers back to see red coating them.

“Oh, sorry,” Will replied innocently, slightly furrowing his brow and tilting his head in a look of fabricated confusion as Hannibal settled next to him. “I tripped.”

“The hell you did,” Maxwell growled, stepping forward and approaching Will in a way Maxwell sure intended to be intimidating. He tried hard, Will was sure he did. But it was, more than anything, funny. Will just stood there, watching in disdain as the other man spat out his words like venom. They had no impact on him.

“All night you’ve been staring at me like I was a pig of the worst sort,” he spat, shoving an accusing finger towards Will’s chest. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I won’t stand for it,” he hissed and shoved Will against the wall with such strength that all breath escaped his lungs. His vision swam, and he felt dizzy. Maxwell was stronger than Will had thought.

“There is no wife here, is there?” he realized. “There never was.” Anger and confusion flashed in his eyes and he grabbed Will by the collar and looked to his right to the bottom of the stairs where Hannibal had stood. Only... He was no longer there.

He turned to look around, letting go of Will, but barely had the opportunity to move an inch before Hannibal intervened, having moved behind the man, silent like a cat stalking prey. He moved with a deadly swiftness, easily taking Maxwell by surprise and sticking a knife between his shoulder blades. Maxwell gasped in pain and almost instinctively started reaching for the blade high up in his back in a futile attempt to get hold of it, all while falling to his knees.

“Y… You…” he slurred, trying to stand up again but failing tremendously, losing balance and dropping to the floor to support himself on his hands. Hannibal yanked the knife out as Maxwell cried out in anguish and blood spurted out, staining not only Maxwell’s fancy jacket, but Hannibal’s hands, too. “Not to worry,” Hannibal smirked, “I am merely measuring the depth of your fat,” he referenced, eyeing Will for his reaction. He smiled back in realization of the connotation. So he wasn’t the only one who’d thought of Mason Verger.

“You’re both f-,” Maxwell groaned in pain, “fucking insane,” he managed breathlessly. At this, Will returned his scowling gaze to him and took a step forward. A wave of satisfaction flooded him when Maxwell nearly whimpered and raised his arms to shield himself, his arrogant attitude disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Please, I-I have a wife and a kid on the way, you can’t do this,” he pleaded, arms still hiding his face. Will felt his delight replaced with a surge of that same revulsion that had resided inside him all evening. It kindled as a small spark inside before bursting into full-blown flames. He wasted no time acting on the need it brought with; he kicked Maxwell in the chest and stole his breath the same way the other man had done to him moments earlier. The excuse of a man yelped weakly as he fell to the ground with a small thud. Will’s own chest still ached with each breath, but that did nothing to allay his wrath.

He crawled on top of the now-wailing mess of a man and clutched his shirt collar violently with both hands, picking the man’s torso up from the ground. “I know damn well your wife will be much better off without you beating her and her unborn child senseless every night,” Will growled, grip tightening on the other man’s collar.

“Are you really going to kill me just to avenge a woman you don’t even fucking know?” Maxwell snickered and coughed a bitter laugh. The cockiness was back, and oh, wasn’t there just something so fitting about a man undeserving of life laughing in the face of death?

“No,” Will replied, “I’m going to kill you because I want to.” He swallowed and leaned down closer to whisper in his ear. “And because I’m going to enjoy it so fucking much,” continued Will in a gravelly voice, mimicking Maxwell’s conceited tone. For the first time that night, his breath hitched in what Will suspected to be terror. It brought him the same, familiar sense of power he’d acquired a taste for.

Before the other man could quite react to what he’d said, Will released his grip on his collar and punched him in the face. With the way his nose crunched, he suspected he’d broken it, and with the way Maxwell had cried out, he hadn’t lost consciousness yet. Good.

“Give me the knife,” Will demanded and reached out his hand, not letting his eyes stray from the man beneath him, not for a second. “No, no, no, please, please,” Maxwell sobbed when he was finally hit with the gravity of what was going to happen to him. Will paid it no mind.

When he felt gentle fingers press the warm handle of the knife on his palm, Will tightly closed his fingers over it. He raised it, but before he could do anything with it, Maxwell lunged at him hysterically like a panicking pig about to be butchered. He swatted at his knife-wielding wrist, and the knife flew away from his grip. It clattered onto the tiles, away from the pair.

Maxwell writhed under Will’s grip and almost managed to release himself, but Hannibal intervened and caught him in his arms in a chokehold, holding the wriggling and wailing man. He seemed to be struggling a bit. Maxwell was quite strong, after all. Will knew he wouldn’t be able to restrain him for long.

So without second thought, Will reached for the knife and plunged the blade deep in Maxwell’s gut. He dragged it all the way up until the blade met his sternum. Blood and guts poured out, the thick crimson liquid soaking Will’s hands and arms, spitting his shirt in blood and pooling on the floor where it drenched both his and Hannibal’s clothes. Maxwell helplessly gasped for air like a fish out of water, unable to make a sound. He had finally shut up for good. Will stared, unable to take his eyes off the sight. It was beyond fulfilling to watch justice served.

Hannibal lowered Maxwell down on the floor and took Will’s bloodstained knife-wielding hand in his own. “We’ll take his tongue and liver,” Hannibal stated calmly, glancing at Maxwell, who was still gasping for air in ragged breaths, desperately clinging to the slightest bit of life he had left. “Tongue first, don’t you think?” he continued.

Will stood up. “Let’s do it at the same time. You take the liver, I the tongue,” Will suggested. “While he’s still alive.”

Hannibal’s expression softened, and he looked at Will with pride and surprising fondness twinkling in his eyes. When he finally spoke, it was with a tinge of humour. “That’s my boy.”

He fetched a knife of his own, and Will knelt down at Maxwell’s head. Watching the horrified look in the eyes of their victim, he felt like a barbaric god. And Maxwell was his lamb, awaiting his inevitable slaughter.

⁂

Will let out an involuntary whimper of pleasure. His release came, and his hands gripped tight on the edge of their mattress, fingers grasping clean, soft sheets. After, Hannibal’s lips and tongue lingered, kissing softly the skin of his thighs, his pelvis, his stomach ― not wanting to let go though his work was already done.

”Oh, fuck,” Will panted, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he tried to even his heart rate.

”What an incredible sight you are,” Hannibal smiled, looking up at him with adoration in his gaze. Will let out a breathy laugh. He leaned down to place his hands on the nape of Hannibal’s neck and gripped his overgrown hair fondly, adoring him just the same.

Their attention diverted, though, when the gap in the door to the bedroom opened wider as Remy ran in the room. The silver cat crossed the floor in a flurry and hid under the bed with a quickness that could only be associated with oncoming guests. The doorbell rang just a second later. Will breathed out a huff of disappointment and leaned up to sit straight on the bed again. Hannibal stood up from his knees but made no incentive of leaving.

“I’ll get it, then,” Will huffed and stood up from the bed, walking to their dresser to pick out a clean pair of boxers to put on. “Don’t take long,” Hannibal said, sitting down on the bed.  
“Keep me waiting long enough and you’ll find yourself in tomorrow night’s stew,” he continued. Will chuckled at that. It was hard to take someone’s threats seriously when just a second ago they had gazed up at you like you’d hung the stars and moon.

“You wouldn’t last a second without me. Though, I’d very much like to see you try,” Will replied, teasing, taking a second to pause. “Oh wait, you already did. And failed, need I remind you?” He stood up, smiling at the face Hannibal made at his statement. “I’ll be quick,” Will said, smiling and begrudgingly headed out of their bedroom and down the stairs.

When he was down, he glanced at the clock on their living room wall. It was around 11 o'clock in the evening. Quite a late time, but definitely not the latest they’d had company. Time had passed much slower than he’d thought it had. As Will walked to the door, he noticed his robe was still hanging open. Not feeling the need to show off his bare chest tonight, he hastily closed the robe before opening the door.

“Evening,” a woman greeted. Samira, Will realized, and furrowed his brows at the sight before him. She was standing at the door in her lace nightgown and wool cardigan, holding a small gift basket in her hands.

“So sorry to bother you this late, but my mother absolutely insisted I bring these to you right now, while the bread is still fresh. As a thank you for Misha’s beautiful playing. And your wonderful company too, of course,” she explained, offering the basket for Will to take.

“Oh, wow. Uh, thank you,” he smiled, taken by surprise and took the basket, unsure of what else to say. The gift basket contained a loaf of garlic bread partially hidden by a small white towel, as well as a bottle of 1999 Merlot. He set it aside on the small table next to the doorway. “It was no bother, the least thing we could do. My mother adores you two, so she wanted to go a little overboard. As always,” she said and chuckled. Will smiled at her radiant composure. The unbridled joy she emanated resembled a sort of tranquility only present in those mentally unburdened. He himself did not have that privilege. Will's smile faltered ever so slightly, befitting the pang of envy that settled within him.

“Oh, well, I’d better go. Again, I am so sorry about bothering you this late. But, we wholeheartedly hope you both enjoy,” she said. Will nodded in gratitude, noticing Samira’s smile fade as she sensed his tenseness. She forced her mouth to quirk in a polite smile, and then turned to leave.

Will hesitated. “Samira,” he called after her. She turned back, expression expectant. “Listen, you’ve been really kind. Would you, uh,” he nervously brought his fingers to his chin, “like to come in for a glass of wine?” he proposed, vaguely gesturing with his hand. Samira’s face lit up and she nodded, eagerly stepping inside.

Hannibal was going to kill him.

⁂

The flames in the fireplace crackled, lighting up the room in warm, dim light. The heavy weather outside echoed its way inside as the rain pattered against the windows of their library. The heavy books on the high shelves surrounding them felt like armor, hiding them from what responsibilities lie in wait for them outside their small sanctuary. Margot held Alana in her arms as they both lay on their soft, padded couch. They dozed in and out of sleep while enjoying each other's mere presence, one’s steady breathing lulling the other into a state of still calmness.

“Do you worry about Hannibal still, darling?” Margot asked, nearly whispering, gently stroking her wife’s hair while she rested on her chest.

“I don’t want to,” Alana began, “but I would be lying if I said I didn’t.” She knew Margot to believe he and Will dead, but Alana knew better. She knew better than to find comfort in that naïve lie. “It’s very likely that Hannibal is still alive. He's a little bit like a cockroach that way," she joked, trying on a smile that fell flat. Right now humour felt strange, wrong on her lips. "And if he's alive, so is Will. One cannot live without the other," she stated, her words holding such bitter truth it prickled her mouth. "It would be a paradox.”

Margot hummed and pet Alana's cheek, her fingertips softened to their prime by love and the gentleness of motherhood. “You can’t know that for certain.”

Alana lifted her chin and looked up at the woman with whom she was entwined. “I want to believe you, I do. But I can’t.” Alana closed her eyes, snuggling further against her wife’s warm, comforting chest, trying to fight the vines of icy dread that attempted to grip their sharp thorns around her heart. “Hannibal promised to save Will,” she sighed, voice weak. “And he always keeps his promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title of the chapter is from shakespeare's play called richard the second. thanks so much for reading! :-)


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